Reflections while they're squishing my boobs

 

I had a mammogram today. And it occurred to me while my boobs were getting squished that I could have cancer. And that got me thinking. What would I do if I had cancer? If I only had today to live, what would be my final thoughts, my biggest regrets and how would I spend my final moments.

If I truly needed to depart tomorrow, would I be looking for validation in a piece of paper that tells no one in particular that I can do some ultrasound guided procedure or that I am a good leader? And why do I torture myself over things that do not come natural to me and may not necessarily mean anything in the great scheme of things?

HEIDI, have you learnt nothing? Over and over again repeating the same lesson. And over and over again slow on the uptake.

If I were destined to die today, I would spend the day quietly telling my children how much I love them and how much they mean to me. I would ensure they knew where to find everything I have written and I’d probably regret the most not having written my book or published something.

Do I want the extra stress of being a boss?

Do I want the extra responsibility? To be honest, no.

I’d like the security of a contract, and the illusion that I have control over things that happen in my life. I don’t.

I have control over what I do today, that’s all. I get the most satisfaction out of my work when I have the energy to be cheerful and spend time updating my knowledge. Not because it’s working towards a new qualification, but because I want to be the best doctor I can be.

I get satisfaction out of making teddy bears and giving them to kids at work, or relating to someone at a deeper level, or challenging their stereotypical view of a doctor. I like making a diagnosis, puzzling a case out with a colleague, making a worthwhile contribution that isn’t perfect or grand, or necessarily recognized. Because I am not a grand shit sort of person at the end of the day. I may not win awards, or be the valedictorian, or the one who makes a speech. I am the quiet achiever that hardly anyone notices until my hair isn’t purple or I am not cheerful and smiling.

I don’t have the ability to memorize things easily, not do I have outstandingly extensive knowledge in medicine because I have spent my time on other things that are more valuable to me. My kids, my pets, writing, exercise, my friends. And if I were to ask enough people what they thought, I would get enough opinions to make my head spin. Opinions that may not be what’s true or real for me.

So if I need to be a casual contractor for the rest of my career? So what? I get to have holidays when I want them, take time off whenever I want, and do other things like locuming. There will always be work for me to do. And if I get sick? I’ll live on less. I don’t have extravagant needs, my animals do!  And they won’t be here forever.

And then I can just do whatever I feel like doing. And that’s gotta be enough. It is enough. I am enough.

The day will come when I will get cancer or hit by a bus or have a stroke, and none of it will matter. None of it except what was true for me. And that may not be what my neighbor thinks is right, or true. But it is for me. 

Legacy

 

If it were simple, it wouldn’t be worth doing.

If it were simple, it would be done in a heartbeat and then it would be over.

Tides seem monstrous in the dark. The swell a mutiny and a violation. And at dawn, the same tides settle and caress the sand, contrasting the violence and the din at night.

And when the sun sets again in the still of the following day, the storms are forgotten and there is a new day that enters the stage.

Whatever you desire is on the table.

You can settle for the buy in or you can take a chance.

It doesn’t matter, for the cards will fall as they will,

No matter how much you have invested.

When you remember, the time line is clear,

The chronology evident.

But when you’re blind and fumbling for the ends of the fabric that will create your quilt,

You can’t see the end product, and no amount of sketching will let you see what you will truly produce.

For destiny doesn’t exist.

Coincidence is certainty,

And the ordained is forgotten.

Or at least that’s what the years try to teach us.

Whimsical horses on a carousel lead you to a mortgage

And responsibility imprisons us.

This is the way it’s supposed to be.

This is what creates achievement and what is expected.

To be lost in your dreams and remain in your imagination is not what builds skyscrapers and superannuation.

That is not honorable or the right thing.

For to graduate at the gates of silver you must eventually fall into the mould you were given..

But

What if I can’t justify the pain of restriction?

What if I can’t wear that waist trainer for my dreams?

I could be all pretty, and still dead.

I could have all the houses and still be ash.

And the legacy I planted could be gold….

Or I can strive and balk and scream to be allowed to be free.

I can refuse to believe them.

I can close my eyes and see the patterns that bely the certainty of an investment.

Stand out for centuries as a ghost that maws at the dark.

A ghost that clutches at your chains and yanks at them from oblivion. A ghost that haunts itself in boxes and photographs that hang like leaves. And the deciduous years discard them in the end.

You are a clip you post that is too long. Trimmed to fit, you publish the valued part. The rest is the edge of forever, the irrelevant edges that padded your magna opus.